Full Bloom
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: Dublin, June 1919 - "They had been girls the last time they had done this, but the war had made them women." The Crawley sisters muse on life, love, and loss on the morning of Sybil's wedding.


"_No matter where I roam  
>I will return to my English Rose<br>For no bonds could ever keep me from she."  
><em>_**English Rose – The Jam**_

_**Dublin, June 1919  
><strong>_Edith Crawley couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sensation of déjà vu. As she sat there, perched on the end of the bed, she realised that they'd been here somewhere before. Trouble was, it had been in a time and a place so far away that it almost seemed like a dream now. So much had changed since then and the three of them were living proof of that. They had been girls the last time they had done this, but the war had made them women.

_**-xxx-**_

She remembered the day so clearly, it was shortly after the sinking of the Titanic, after Patrick died, but before Matthew had come into their lives. They were expecting the arrival of the young Duke of Crowborough, and it had been a scene that had spoke volumes about their relationship. Edith, as always, had watched from the sidelines as everyone fawned over Mary, ever the centre of attention. It had still baffled her how her sister could be in such high spirits so soon after the passing of her fiancé. But then Mary had never loved Patrick, at least not in the way that Edith had.

As heartless as it sounded, the news of Patrick's death had been like a weight lifted off Mary's shoulders. She'd learnt from a very young age that her knight in shining armour wasn't coming to rescue her from her tower, or that her prince charming wasn't waiting in the wings to woo her and then they'd ride off into the sunset together. Oh no... Fairytales, Mary had learnt, do not exist. She was to marry Patrick and that was that. Naturally, she had been bitter about the entire affair and often wondered if that was the reason that there were widespread whispers of her being heartless – the ice maiden of the North, some had called her. "_No_," Mary had mused as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror, toying with her necklace as she so often did. "_They don't know me at all... none of them. They don't know what it's like._" Knowing that she was bound by honour and duty to marry her father's heir, a man she knew she would never truly love, Mary had told herself that she would never allow herself to fall for another – yes, she would laugh and flirt with any would-be suitors, but that was as far as it went. This was her lot in life and she just had to accept it. This startling turn of events, however, had felt to Mary as if somebody had loosened the strings of her corset, finally allowing her to breathe for the first time. "_A new beginning_," she thought to herself, smiling as her youngest sister added a small white flower to her hair.

Sybil, sweet, darling, innocent Sybil – or at least she had been then. Now, seven years later, she was no longer that wide eyed, idealistic girl that she had once been. Of the three of them, Sybil was the one to see the world for what it really was - she'd had a taste of a life outside of their little bubble of fine titles and glittering jewels, and had realised that the world she had been brought up in wasn't one in which she belonged. The baby of the family had always been something of a rebel and would no doubt have found a way to escape her gilded cage one way or another, but nobody could ever have foreseen that it was to be love's light wings that would carry her so far from home. Even Mary had to concede that, for Sybil to have given everything to him in such a way and at such a young age (well, compared to her and Edith), Tom Branson had to be something rather spectacular indeed.

_**-xxx-**_

And so, it was on the other side of the Irish Sea, in a city that seemed a million miles away from the peace and tranquillity of the North Yorkshire village the three girls had called home, that the scene from that late summer afternoon in 1912 replayed itself once more – with one minor difference. This time, it was Mary who tended to Sybil's hair. Not one for tradition (her choice of husband another testament to this fact), Sybil had decided against a veil in favour of flowers weaved into the intricate knot her hair had been brought up into, Mary and Edith (acting as bridesmaids alongside Tom's sister, Órlaith) sporting similar, albeit much simpler, styles.

"There," Mary said, making one final adjustment to the last flower, the largest of them which also served a symbolic purpose as well as a decorative one. "The white rose of Yorkshire," she said with a smile, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. "A little piece of home."

"Oh, Mary," Sybil squealed. "It's beautiful! However did you learn how to do this?"

Mary raised a knowing eyebrow, feeling incredibly proud of herself. "I've been taking lessons from Anna. I wish she could have come with us, but it's understandable why she wants to stay."

Sybil nodded. "It's so terribly sad... You will give her my best, won't you? Tom's too. I know they were friends."

Reaching out, Mary took Sybil's hand in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was so like her baby sister, on a day that was supposed to be focused almost entirely on her, to be thinking of somebody else less fortunate than she. "Of course I will darling."

Wanting to lift the somewhat sombre mood that had descended upon the room, Edith sprang to her feet, clutching the two boxes that had been lying on the bed next to her. With a kindly smile, she offered the larger of the two out to Sybil. "From Granny, your something old," she said, referring to a stunning pair of earrings. "She says that she wore them at her wedding, as did mama, and now it's your turn."

Sybil was stunned. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but that small gesture by her grandmother said so much. It was almost as though, by adhering to the old Crawley family traditions, the Dowager Countess was displaying some sort of acceptance of her youngest granddaughter's decision. Or at least that was what Sybil had hoped and hope, she had learnt during the war, was a very powerful thing indeed.

"And I suppose your dress is something new..." Mary began, pausing when she saw the tears glistening in Sybil's eyes. "Darling, whatever's the matter?" she asked, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

Sybil shook her head. "It's nothing... it's just... I wish they were here. I know the two of you are, and I'm so grateful for that, really, I am and you honestly can't even begin to understand just how much it means to me. Tom's family have been so wonderful too but... having their blessing just isn't the same as having them here. I dread to think what their reaction would have been if we had succeeded in eloping." She half laughed at this, remembering that night when it seemed that disaster had struck. It was only in the days following that Sybil and Tom had realised that it had in fact been their plan that was disastrous and not the fact that they had been caught. In a sense, the couple owed her sisters rather a lot because at least, this way, it gave them chance to do things properly (well, as properly as a Lady and former-chauffeur could do and even now it wasn't exactly smooth sailing).

Edith and Mary exchanged a look, neither of them quite knowing what to say. They had grown closer since Sybil's departure for Dublin. Of course, there was the odd squabble every now and then, but nothing compared to what it had once been.

In the end, it was the former who spoke first. "Papa let Mary and me come over here, believe me, we wouldn't have missed this for the world. But the fact that he **let** us come is so important, just remember that. He and mama haven't ostracised you from the family, cutting you off and pretending that you don't exist. It isn't like that at all, but I don't know what I can say or do to make you see that. They'll come round someday, I'm certain of it."

Sybil laughed. "You sound so much like Tom. He's been saying things like that to me for years."

Mary gave a weak smile as she became lost once more in her own thoughts. She couldn't help but notice how much love suited her little sister, how a faint blush coloured her cheeks and her eyes glittered whenever she spoke of Branson – "_Tom_," Mary corrected herself, still trying to get used to the fact that her soon-to-be brother-in-law actually had a name (Of course, she'd always known he had a name, obviously he did, but he was... well, he was Branson. Always had been – old habits die hard and all that). She absent mindedly toyed with the engagement ring on her finger, knowing for a fact that she didn't look like that when she spoke of Richard, nor did **her** fiancé look at her in the way that Sybil's did – with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes, needing no words to express how she was his absolute world. Mary didn't think that any man had ever come close to it.

Although maybe one had done once upon a time...

One who she'd been incredibly foolish to let go and now it was too late – Wasn't it?

For the first time, Mary felt ever so slightly jealous of Sybil, but quickly brushed it off and, with a good old British stiff upper lip, she dragged herself out of her reverie and let the happiness for her sister take hold of her once more.

"Here," Edith said, holding out a handkerchief to Sybil. "Something borrowed." The three of them giggled at this.

"Which only leaves something blue," added Mary, examining the envelope that she had clutched in her hand. Sure enough the words '_something blue_' were written on it in a script that, to Sybil, was all too familiar.

With a furrowed brow, Sybil allowed Edith to hold the second box as she fumbled with the letter. Quickly, she scanned over the text and, making sure there was nothing too private, she began to read aloud. "_My dearest Sybil_," she started, her fingers trembling slightly. "_To think I've waited for you all these years and yet it is the days that I spend apart from you now that seem like an eternity. They say that all good things come to those who wait and I never really believed it, but now I know that truer words have never been spoken. Except perhaps these – I love you. With all my heart and soul I love you, and I do not wish to be parted from you a moment more. It fills me with such joy to know that the next time I see you, the next time I hold your hand in mine, and the kiss that will follow our next exchange will bind the two of us together for all eternity. The next great adventure is calling us, my darling, the path laid at our feet and, from that very first moment I met you, I knew there was nobody else I would rather share the journey with. You are my everything and nothing anybody can say or do will ever change that – Your father could cast me off to Antarctica for all I care, just as long as you would be there keeping me warm beside you!"_ (Sybil blushed slightly at this part – Tom had been rather explicit in telling her just what his ideas for 'keeping warm' during the winter months were. It had been a revelation that, among one or two other things, had seriously made her reconsider telling him that he could have nothing more than a kiss until after everything had been settled – like the Crawley woman she was though, she'd stuck to her guns and hadn't given in, no matter how he'd made her feel.) Sybil quickly glanced up to judge her sister's reaction to their former employee's display of sentimentality. Mary was playing with her necklace (again), showing that, although she was listening, she was thinking about something, and Edith seemed to be clinging on to every syllable that came out of her sister's mouth.

Sybil chuckled as she read the next part of Tom's letter. "_For a man who prides himself on being good with words, I fear that I'm no longer making any sense at all, so I shall end the sentiment and save it for when I can tell you personally... I may perhaps even show you_ (another blush)_. I suppose that, by now, you're wondering what this has to do with your something blue. The necklace inside the box belonged to my Nana Branson. She left it to me in her will when she died, saying that if ever I were lucky enough to meet the love of my life, I should give her this on our wedding day. She also hoped that, one day, we would see our own daughter wear it on her own. You remind me an awful lot of her – both so strong, so passionate, and also two of the most incredible women I have ever had the privilege to call part of my family. Our family. I end this by thanking you – thanking you for having faith in me, for not giving up on me, and for standing by me when perhaps I didn't always deserve it. I must have been born under a lucky star to have found myself where I am today. I love you, so very much and will tell you so every day – even then I do not think it will be enough. Meet me at the altar, my darling, I'll be the one in the suit. Forever yours and with all the love I possess... Tom._"

"Sybil," Edith said. "I may need to borrow that handkerchief back for a moment," she half laughed. Any doubts that she had ever had about the Irishman's feelings for her sister had completely vanished, a part of her aching to find her own Tom Branson somewhere out there in the world.

"What did his grandmother give him?" asked Mary, who had also found new faith in her sister's fiancé. The three of them peered into the small, battered box. Inside was perhaps one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery Sybil had ever seen, even more so than her own grandmother's earrings. It was a pendant, fashioned into the shape of a horseshoe and inlaid with tiny diamonds and sapphires... her something blue.

_**-xxx-**_

There was a knock at the door and, leaving Mary to fasten the necklace, Edith opened it only to be greeted by the eldest of Tom's brothers, Niall, who had agreed to step in and give Sybil away.

"Mornin' Lady Edith, Lady Mary," he said with a slight bow of his head for each of them, even happier than his usual cheery self (if that was at all possible). "Sybil, you look beautiful," he added, catching a glimpse of his brother's bride. He didn't address her by her title, none of the Branson clan did - it had been one thing that Sybil had been absolutely insistent on. "I think that, perhaps for the first time in his life, our Tommy will be speechless."

"That'll be the day!" said Mary with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Niall laughed. "Aye, I'd have to agree with you on that one milady. Sybil love, are you ready to find out?"

Sybil took a deep breath, composing her thoughts. Yes... yes she was ready. It was just as Tom had written – the next great adventure beckoned. Taking Edith and Mary's hands in her own, they followed Niall out onto the streets of Dublin and into the waiting car, the three English Roses blooming in the Irish summer...


End file.
